Disowned
Somewhere over Connecticut
4:32 P.M. EDT
Wally could feel Artemis glaring dagger into the back of his head. He wished he'd been able to get a back seat in the bio-ship instead of a front one so he wouldn't have his back turned to the archer who probably planed to write his obituary.
It didn't make him feel any better that he'd been paired with her to search the stupid town of Daleville for some vigilante who supposedly assisted them on their previous mission to Daleville. He especially didn't like looking all over that town for the Nightingale because Robin was already there and hadn't found the vigilante yet. The Boy Wonder was the protégé of Batman, the world's greatest detective and he couldn't even find the bird girl.
Lucky Megan, Connor, and Kaldur, he thought. While he, Artemis, Robin, and Zatanna were tracking a vigilante down, the rest of the team had to guard S.T.A.R. Labs. While guard detail was boring, it was oh so totally safer than running around with someone who probably wanted him dead. This is going to be the longest mission ever.
Daleville, Connecticut
4:39 P.M. EDT
Roy leaned against the chain link fence surrounding the skate park. Earlier he'd gone back to his hotel room and changed into something more suitable for blending in with the high school populace. Fortunately, Alonzo was still at the park, and hadn't left while he'd been away.
He could tell that the skater wasn't telling him something important, something bird related. Roy mentally took note of all the people Alonzo greeted by name or with a smile, either he knew who the Nightingale was or was some sort of informant for her. Therefore it was reasonable to believe that he could lead Roy straight to the bird girl.
"When's this punk gonna leave?" the archer complained under his breath as he observed Alonzo greet some more just arriving skaters. "He's got to leave sometime."
At least during his time watching Alonzo (which wasn't creepy when he didn't think about it) he could see why the Nightingale might ally herself with the skater. He was able to pull of some amazing tricks on his board, that, when applied correctly, someone could easily do some aerial maneuvers that the Nightingale was probably capable of. So Alonzo probably would be a useful ally in the bird girl's line of work.
Wonder how Robin's doing? Hopefully it's better than my investigation, Roy mused, longing for his own skate board as he watched one skater do a trick that he'd found particularly difficult.
Robin watch patiently as Danielle Wagner practiced some gymnastic routines at the Thomas Gymnastic Center. She definitely could be the Nightingale, but something still didn't make sense to him. He'd seen the Nightingale all but limp away from her scrimmage with Scourge and have to reign in what little strength she had to fight him.
Plus she had also gotten a nice laceration on her hand due to one of the villain's throwing knives; such a wound would not have allowed someone to recover quickly enough to be doing floor exercises as if everything were perfectly fine. At the least, he would have expected a bandaged hand, but Danielle wasn't showing any signs of a fight such as the Nightingale had had.
"Are we done yet?" Zatanna ask. She was obviously getting bored. "This is getting both weird and out of hand."
"Almost," Robin commented. "I think we've got everything that we need right now. But I think we need to find out more about Briana, too."
"Good, she seemed to have a far more interesting life than a cheerleader," she replied as they walked to the lobby of the gymnastic center.
It was actually one of the nicest buildings they had seen in Daleville yet. The equipment was very up-to-date and also appeared to be well used. The lobby housed trophy cases containing numerous tokens and winnings that had accumulated over the years. The Daleville gymnastics team seemed to be just as good as Gotham Academy's.
The lobby also had mural in it, right between the two trophy chases, running along it was a low shelf with little knick-knacks on it.
Robin stopped for a moment to look at it. When he'd first come in he hadn't thought much of it, but now that he got a better look at it he thought more of it.
On the top of the painting were letters painted in gold that formed a downwards curving sentence: "In Loving Memory of …" Underneath that was a portrait of three people. A boy about the age of sixteen with short dark brown locks and a bright smile was flanked by two adults. To the boy's left was a woman with a petite form with her light brown hair in a bun. To the boy's right was a man of equal stature and hair color, but older, the two looked so similar that Robin supposed that they were father and son. At the bottom the sentence finished and curved upwards: "Brian, Anthony, and Sarah Thomas".
Wonder who they were? Robin thought, examining the mementos that lay on the low shelf among some lite scented candles.
Robin made a mental note to look into the people portrayed in the mural. They shared their last name with Briana, but those people had little resemblance to the raven hair girl whom he suspected could be the Nightingale.
Jack stared bleakly at his English homework. Grammar was his least favorite thing to go over. Plus Troy goading him over his "love life" wasn't helping.
Hailey had apparently taken the steps to interfere with his friendship with Briana.
"You like Briana, you genuinely like Briana," his friend marveled. "Why didn't I see it before?"
Jack looked up from his paper to glare at him. Troy had sandy brown hair and lively blue eyes, and a naturally noisy personality. Why Jack had chosen a best friend who liked to tease and annoy other about thing like this was beyond him.
"You didn't see it because there was nothing there in the first place," Jack replied, exasperated with Troy's comments. "We're just friends."
"Yeah right, you have been 'just friends' for as long as I can remember. That platonic friendship has out lasted any friendship I've ever seen."
"Then you have been sorely deprived of good company, and might I remind you of an obvious fact: Briana is thirteen going on fourteen, and I'm sixteen and will be seventeen in a few more months. Any relationship, aside from a really good friendship, will likely end in disaster." He glared at the smug Troy. His best friend didn't get how delicate and weird dating Briana would be.
"Yeah, physically Briana is a fourteen year old, but her psyche is that of an adult or maybe an eighteen year old, I can't tell really. But, what I mean is she's not your average teen - more mature. So, what difference would there be between you dating Briana and dating someone your age?" Troy smirked, he definitely didn't understand anything.
"I can think of a long list," Jack deadpanned and returned his attention back to his slow death by grammatical error correction.
"Okay, but let me just say that if you don't try you won't know what might've happened."
"How do you spell attribute?" Jack asked after several minutes of silence.
"A-T-T-R-I-B-U-T-E," spelled Amanda declaring her presence.
"Well, hello, Amanda, and what brings a beautiful thing such as yourself to our humble abode?" Troy greeted with a smile.
"I was wondering if Blonde got the notes for math class. I was dozing and missed a good half and need it to do my homework," she deadpanned, giving Troy a sour glare that could curdle dairy.
"Are you sure that you didn't just come here to see me?" Troy unashamedly asked.
Amanda looked as if she were about to give Troy an oversized portion of what she thought of him, but Jack intervened.
"Yeah, I've got the notes, would you like my help on the work? I'm having trouble with that too."
"Sure," Amanda readily agreed. "I need all the help I can get."
With that she waltzed out of his and Troy's room, but not before aiming a glower in Troy's direction.
Jack grabbed the math notes and quickly followed her. He doubted that any conversation he and Amanda would have would be about math though.
"You're not in my Algebra class, Amanda, what's this actually about?" he asked when they were well enough away from his room and Troy's keen hearing.
"No, but we have the same teacher. You're right though, I've already finished my math homework, I just needed to get you out of there and to a more private place before we talked," she said crossing her arms over her chest as she took a seat in the desk chair of her room.
He sat down on the bed opposing the desk chair, and glanced around. Aside from being on the opposite side of the building and belonging to girls, the room was almost identical to his own room that he shared with Troy.
There wasn't anything especially interesting about the room aside from the fact that Briana occupied it. The bed on the side farthest from the door belonged to Briana, and with the exception of a simple Justice League poster, was unadorned. The bed was neatly made and he could see that Briana's knapsack wasn't around, so he could also assume that Briana wasn't back from school yet, but it was late so he had to wonder where she was.
"This is about the surprise party, isn't it?" Jack asked pointedly.
"Yeah, you're in. I haven't talked to Johnny, but I don't think he'd care," Amanda said, and Jack raised any eyebrow. Johnny not caring about Briana's surprise party? Jack didn't think that was like him, from what he knew Johnny was a better friend than that. "But that's not the point. I need your help. I've learned everything I can from … other resources."
"'Other resources'?"
"A journal, okay? The point is that you know more about Briana than I do, at least more about other subject matter than I do," Amanda started.
"So what do you want to know about Briana?" Jack calmly asked, choosing to ignore what probably was a confession of invading Briana's privacy.
"For one, what's her favorite soft drink? And we're also lacking in the present department."
"If you need to know that about Briana, then what don't I know about her?"
"You've no idea, but start talking. I will kick you out of our conspiracy if you're uncooperative," she threatened lightly.
"Hey, kid, how you doing?" Stephen greeted, pulling his younger brother into a rough hug. He'd just been release from the hospital's watchful eye, and was getting a warm home coming from his family: Johnny, little Pete, Uncle Commish, his mom and dad.
He was happy to see them, but he wasn't exactly quite feeling like he wanted to talk with his happy family right yet, especially after failing to apprehend Scourge.
His brother returned the embrace. "Pretty good, how about you?"
"Worse for wears, but not too bad, though," Stephen responded, trying his best to appear happy. His ruse might fool Johnny, and it certainly would fool Peter, but his mom, dad, and uncle wouldn't be tricked. "Come on; let's go home. I'm tired of hospitals."
"Yes, let's, and Steph, I want you to ride with me," said Travis as he patted him on the shoulder and pulled him into a hug, then whispered in his ear, "We need to talk."
"Okay," interrupted his mom. "I've got you're favorite at home, but if we stand around here, it'll take 'til midnight to cook."
His mom herded the Miles brood out with Peter happily waving to everyone they passed. Stephen wondered how long his youngest brother's innocent state would last, because, unfortunately, it would not last forever.
Travis led him to his car. It, of course, was a police car, unmarked though.
"How you feelin', Steph?" Travis asked after several minutes of silence.
"Will you quit calling me that, Uncle Commish, it's too girly," Stephen protested, feeling slightly crabby now thanks to his uncle's ridiculous nickname that he'd out grown at the age of ten.
"Seriously, though, how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine, but it's not my body that's hurting," he answered.
"Your ego shouldn't get in the way of your job," Travis said. "But neither should your eagerness to prove yourself."
"Yeah, but everyone thinks you're going easy on me because I'm your nephew, how else am I gonna earn their respect?"
"Getting yourself killed because of a rookie mistake isn't one of them."
"And neither is getting my ass saved by a vigilante!" he snapped. Stephen hated that he was saved by the Nightingale, not that he didn't appreciate it.
"The Nightingale isn't the issue here. You should have called for backup. Scourge isn't something your tackle alone," Travis said calmly, but Stephen could hear the underlying temper in his voice.
"Yeah, and that's so meaningful when you took him on by yourself to get Johnny back when that creep kidnapped him," he pointed out, glowering at Travis as he rested his head on his fist with his arm on the door.
"That … that was my mistake and I'm very lucky that it didn't end in disaster. But you almost weren't that lucky, Scourge almost killed you," responded his uncle.
Stephen sighed. "I know."
"The only reason that you're alive is because of the Nightingale."
"So what? She's still a vigilante. She's a criminal just like Scourge!"
"No, she might wear a mask and use similar tactics as that damned demon, but they are not the same. If they were, a lot of people would be dead and this city wouldn't be the way it is today." Stephen eyed his uncle carefully. Travis defended that vigilante with a passion and he'd never understood why. "Look, she might not do what she does within the boundaries of the law, but she's done a lot more to improve this city in the last three or four years than the efforts of our department combined over the last ten, so don't be too quick to point fingers."
"Is that what this is about? Trying to convert me into liking the Nightingale?" Stephen rolled his eyes. "Well, don't waste your breath, it isn't gonna work. I don't like the Nightingale and won't ever like that freak."
"No, I just wanted to privately tell you that you're on suspension for a few days," Travis deadpanned.
"What?"
"Your rash actions have earned you a few days off from work. Trust me, you need to relax and loosen up. An encounter with Scourge is not something anyone should take lightly."
That conversation ended as they pulled into the parking garage of their apartment building. Travis parked his car, and Stephen got out, his mood not very good. He didn't want to sit at home and play video games like he used to in high school or even when he was suspended from duty other times. He'd never do anything like he used to in high school again anyway, especially when a certain friend wasn't there to enjoy it with him.
For his family's sake, Stephen put on a contented and happy disposition again. He'd drop his front once he got to his room, where he could sulk in private.
"I'm so glad that you're alright Stephen," Johnny expressed as they took the elevator to their floor.
"Yeah, me too," he answered. "How long 'til dinner, Mom?"
"It won't be for another half hour at least," she replied.
"Okay, I'll be in my room if anyone wants me."
Stephen sauntered into the apartment and entered his room. He could have gotten his own apartment if he wanted, but he liked staying with his family and he couldn't scrounge up enough money to afford any sort of place he wanted to live.
His room hadn't changed much since he'd graduated college. Clothing scattered on the floor, a few magazines hidden here and there that he wouldn't want his mom finding, a desk cluttered with papers (probably still had some incomplete homework from high school somewhere in there), a shelf with his cameras and film was above his desk and bed, and a six by six framed picture sat in a careful place on top of his dictionary and thesaurus at the corner of his desk.
With a heavy sigh, Stephen plopped down in his computer chair and turned on his small laptop for ultimately no reason. As he waited for the device to boot up, his eyes inevitably gravitated to the picture. It was probably one of the best he'd ever taken.
It portrayed two young smiling men, both sixteen years old. One of those men was Stephen and the other who had his arm over Stephen's shoulder was Brian, his deceased best friend.
Brian had always had a cheery disposition and that particular day had his best friend in a very, very good mood because it was his little sister's birthday, the last one that the Thomas family had celebrated together. Stephen really missed his best friend, especially on days like this when he felt like he was the only one who understood what he felt.
I wonder what it'd be like if it'd been you that'd survived and not your sister, Stephen mused. Maybe life wouldn't be so sullen all the time.
Briana held tightly to a Beany-Baby cat as if it were her only life line. The black dress she'd worn to the funeral but a few hours earlier was starting to irritate her skin.
The kindly Mr. Jenkins guided her through the building to a conference room. Whatever he had called some her uncles, aunts, and other relations there for was about to begin.
"Have a seat by me, Ms. Thomas," he said putting her in one of the black leather upholstered chair around the long table. "Don't worry about anything, Briana, everything will be alright."
The old man was very nice and kind to her. He'd even given her his clean handkerchief to dry her eyes, but she didn't need it now. Her eyes wouldn't lend her any more tears right now.
Her relations filed in one by one. Their somber attire belayed some of the looks on their faces. But some of her cousins and aunts looked as somber as she was.
"Thomas', and Stuarts', I am truly sorry for your tragic loss. Anthony and Sarah were some of my closest friends," began Mr. Jenkins.
"So what did their will say?" bellowed Uncle Timothy interrupting Mr. Jenkins heartfelt speech.
Mr. Jenkins kind expression hardened into a shrewd one. The expression was one Briana had seen many times before, but usually he was flanked by her parents and the trio usually meant business.
"Yes," said Mr. Jenkins, producing a document and examining it. "This document is legally binding and exactly what Anthony and Sarah would want if they were taken away from one or both their children:
"Briana M. Thomas is to be looked after and cared for by her closest family member if they are willing. Her closest being Timothy Thomas, are you willing?"
Briana looked up at her uncle, he didn't look to be in a very good mood. She never was sure if he liked her, she always could sense an unspoken anger he had towards her and her father and she didn't like it.
"No, Briana isn't my family member," he intoned at Mr. Jenkins and Briana began to slid in the seat. Maybe she could hide under the table away from her uncles' and aunts' gaze. Only her mom and dad and Brian really liked her and they weren't there, were ever going to be there again. Maybe if she could get under the table, she could sneak out of the room and hide somewhere safe, she could forget about all this.
But a stern glance from Mr. Jenkins stopped her, he didn't want her to leave.
Briana miserably glanced at each person whom Mr. Jenkins called upon, but each time they told him that they either weren't capable of taking care of her or didn't want to.
Briana's lips trembled as the last name was called and as they too said no.
They don't want me, she thought. No one wants me.
A fresh tear rolled down her cheek. No one wanted her, not a single one.
Well, that – that's just fine, I don't want them either, she resolved, trying to force hot tears of anger and sadness out of her eyes.
"So what did we get?" bellowed Timothy fiercely.
"Nothing," simply stated Mr. Jenkins, putting the will back in a manila envelope.
"Nothing?" he echoed. "Nothing!"
"Yes, nothing, now would you all please leave? Our business has concluded," dismissed the bald lawyer.
The people who Briana once called family quickly left none too pleased with the proceedings. Eventually the only people left in the conference room were Briana and Mr. Jenkins.
"Do you want me to leave too?" Briana eventually collected the courage to ask.
"No, Briana, the proceedings aren't over for you."
Briana looked at him with curiosity and tears while clutching the cat even tighter.
Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat, pulled the document out of the envelope again, and continued, "The rest of the will is in your parent's words, but they are legally binding, would you like to hear them?"
Briana nodded eagerly. If her parents had said them, she knew that she could trust any words then.
"'If in the event, that either or both our children are disowned, then all the designated inheritance, aside from what has been allotted for charity and funeral expenses, is to go Brain and Briana when they come of age. The trust fund that has been set up for their college expenses will be at their disposal when they turn sixteen," Mr. Jenkins said solemnly.
"What's gonna happen to me now?" Briana asked after a moment of silence indicated that the bald lawyer was done.
"My dear, I'm not entirely sure, but your parents have requested that you stay in the Daleville orphanage until your brother could take care of you both, but unfortunately he's not here. So it would seem that your future is entirely in your hands," said Mr. Jenkins sadly.
"Does that mean someone's gonna try to adopt me?" she asked fondly recalling the numerous time she coerced Brian into watching Annie with her. Despite the happy ending of that movie, Briana didn't think she want to be adopted, and besides real life never had happy ending, at least not for her.
"Only if you want to be," he kindly responded. "Just know that I'll be here whenever you need me. Will you remember that, Briana?"
The soon to be six year old nodded. "I will."
Briana scowled as a tear rolled down her cheek as she recalled that godforsaken memory. She hated that one especially, no one had wanted her then and no one had wanted her since.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, she thought, scanning the rubric for the project again. Her family tree wasn't the best one in the orchards.
But she had come this far already, so why didn't she just stay around and find out. She had already ignored the sneers of the secretary and anyone else who walked in expertly. She had already been waiting long enough that Mr. Jenkins secretary had probably given up on running her out by sheer lack of patience and Mr. Jenkins might be seeing her soon.
"Well, you've definitely inherited your mother's negotiation skills despite the lack of blood relation," chuckled an old voice. Briana's head snapped up from the rubric to see Mr. Jenkins happily smiling at her.
The six foot tall old man had hardly changed since her parents will reading, though he did look more aged. He was still the bald, sharp featured lawyer she recalled.
"When Ms. Tracy informed me that a Briana had requested to see me, and refused to leave, I knew it could only be you," he said with a good natured smile and offered Briana his hand. "It's been such a long time since a Thomas has walked through those doors, and I'm glad to see that the youngest has inherited their work skills."
Briana took his hand and gripped it confidently as she slug her knapsack over her shoulder.
"I'm glad you could make time for me, sir," Briana greeted.
"I would always make time for you, Briana. It's the least I could do, but I suppose this isn't a social visit."
"No, actually, there's some stuff I need to ask you about my family." Briana nodded.
Mr. Jenkins merely sighed. "Your parents always knew this day would be coming. Come on, you can ask whatever questions you have in my office."
"Huh?"
Briana followed the lawyer slightly, dumbfounded at his reply. That hadn't been what she'd expected, but it worked for her.
Jenkins led her through the halls to his office. Just like the lobby, his office hadn't changed at all, except for a few more plaque, certificates, and pictures that lined the walls. There were still black upholstered chairs, two in front and one behind the ornate oak desk.
"Have a seat, Briana." He motioned for her to take a seat. She sat in the black leather chair on the right, the one her father had sat in whenever they met with Mr. Jenkins. "So what are your questions?"
He sounded too sullen at this meeting. It wasn't like his usual self.
"This is about my school project. They want me to give my family tree of sorts, and I just wanted to know if you knew anything about my genealogy or what country my parents originated from," Briana questioned calmly, hoping that contradicted what Mr. Jenkins might feel.
"Oh? … Oh!" he exclaimed, seemingly stunned at Briana's question. "Well, I'm not very familiar with that aspect of your family. But I do know that your family is of English origin."
"As in England?"
"Yes, I believe that you've also got a family crest, but I honestly couldn't tell you what it was. Your parents had an entire binder somewhere among their possessions devoted entirely to your family's history," Mr. Jenkins said, he seemed happy to answer her questions having to do with this.
"Thanks, that was pretty much all I needed to know, but is there anything else that you might remember about my ancestry?" Briana asked, perceiving that there was something that Mr. Jenkins wasn't telling her.
"Adopted or otherwise?"
He gave her a look, the kind that meant he also perceived a double meaning, but whatever he thought she was alluding to didn't exist. She wanted to know about her adopted family's origins, they were practically her blood relatives. They were the only family she'd ever known, why would she want to know about someone who hadn't wanted her? Who'd dumped her on the Thomas's door steps at only a few months old?
"Adopted, of course, but while we're on the subject, why are you bringing up my blood relations? It is of relevance?" Briana questioned. Mr. Jenkins had brought the question upon himself, he'd alluded to it and she'd just used the tactics she'd seen her mom and dad use to do their work.
"Hmm, you're going to be fourteen, I suppose it's time."
Okay, that was cryptic, Briana thought before letting her curiosity get the better of her and blurted out, "Old enough for what?"
She wasn't afraid of being denied the information by her outburst or she would have controlled herself better and stuck to her tactics. Mr. Jenkins knew her well enough to avoid that.
"Your parents in their will requested sometime in your teen years – particularly at the beginning of them – that you be told about your origins. Your real family," he said in his usual order of business tone.
"But the Thomas' are my real family."
"I mean your blood family," he interrupted, silencing her protests. It'd been years since she had any real questions about her blood relations, she'd seen her adopted family murdered right in front of her so what did it matter who her blood relations where? "What do you already know?"
"What my parents told me, and I believe them albeit the similarities to some fairy tales," she answered; now questioning the truth of her parents words. "That they found me on their door steps after a particularly rainy night and then went through the horrendous amount of paper work and legalities to adopt me."
"What they told you was the truth, but you know how we lawyers are. We tend to avoid telling the whole truth," Mr. Jenkins said. "You've learned a few tactics from your parents, but you still don't know when someone's telling the whole truth or a partial truth."
Briana couldn't help but inwardly smirk. She had learned that trait, but not at the age of five or six when she'd been told of her origin.
"So what wasn't I told?"
"You weren't the only thing found that morning," he replied going to a filing cabinet and leafing through it. "There was a letter from your mother and a locket around your neck."
Briana raised an eyebrow. If that didn't sound like a tale that belonged in a corny movie, then she didn't know what did.
"The letter also had your birth certificate and said that one day your birth mother would come back for you," said Mr. Jenkins, producing a manila envelope that she assumed contained the letter and locket.
He handed the package to her and she eyed it suspiciously, but accepted it. She put it carefully in her knapsack, planning to open it later.
"They belong to you now, and if you are still interested in the Thomas family tree, then I'll give you your uncle Timothy's phone number, maybe he'll give you something more to work with," offered Mr. Jenkins.
Briana gave him a dull glare. She still disliked that person immensely.
"Yeah, maybe he'll tell me something."